


The Parting Glass

by Heavyheadedgal



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gen, Missing Scene, five things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:58:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5263409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heavyheadedgal/pseuds/Heavyheadedgal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Phryne Fisher said goodbye, and one time she didn't. Missing scenes from "Death Do Us Part" (3 x 08).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is...sort of a five things fic. Never done one of those before. The title and lyrics quoted at the beginning of each chapter are from the Irish traditional song, "The Parting Glass." There are many versions of lyrics, but [these](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/edsheeran/thepartingglass.html) are the ones I used. And [here's](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1se8_-fcxZs) an old-school performance of it.
> 
> The M rating is for language, not for sexytimes. Sorry folks.

_Of all the money that e'er I had, I've spent it in good company_

The flight-planning party and combined wedding reception at the Wardlow was in full swing. The gramophone played jazz record after jazz record; the champagne was flowing. Cec and Alice were dancing, and the Baron was holding court while Aunt Prudence looked on disapprovingly. He was entertaining Mac and Bert with a tale of one of his notorious exploits, involving a chorus girl, a racehorse and a case of mistaken identity.  Everyone was drinking, though Phryne had decided to limit herself to a single glass of champagne, which she nursed through successive toasts: to the bride, the groom, the newlyweds together, the long-suffering Baroness, and Phryne herself. She had changed out of her gold dress and into an elegant silk trousers ensemble. Phryne prided herself on her hostessing skills, and made a circuit of her guests, ensuring their drinks were filled, the conversation and music pleasant.

Aunt Prudence gestured for Phryne to sit next to her. “Phryne, my dear, I’ve taken the liberty of telegraphing Marjorie Townsend-Smythe in Palestine. Her husband the Major is a person of some importance and I’m sure will assist you in this ludicrous endeavour of yours. Do promise me you’ll contact him.”

Phryne was touched. “Thank you, Aunt P. That’s very helpful – I’ll be sure to look them up.”

Prudence fixed her with a stern glare, but squeezed her hand gently. “Don’t take any unnecessary risks, Phryne. And be sure you return soon. I’m counting on your help for the Women’s Hospital Fundraiser this year.”

Phryne laughed and kissed the old woman on the cheek. “I’ll do my best.”

She rose and plucked a glass from Mr. Butler’s tray. “Excellent champagne, Mr. B.”

“Thank you, Miss. If I may, Miss—“

“Yes, Mr. Butler?” Phryne paused in the doorway of the parlour.

“May I wish you the very best of luck in your journey. You’ll be greatly missed.”

Phryne smiled warmly at him. “Thank you, Mr. Butler. I hope to be returning very soon.”

Moving into the dining room, Phryne placed the full glass of champagne next to Jack and sat down by his side. The table was covered with maps, charts, atlases, and a globe.

“Care for some bubbly, Inspector?”

He glanced up from an atlas. “I’m not indulging tonight, thank you, Miss Fisher.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Jack, you need to keep up with the toasts at least. We’ve only cheered the health of the happy couple twice so far.” She picked up her half-empty glass, which was holding down the corner of a map. “See? I can drink to the health of Mrs. Collins and still keep my head for the morning.”

Jack did not reply to this, and instead returned his attention to the atlas. He had been more than usually taciturn this evening, and Phryne couldn’t blame him. She was trying to maintain a light tone, but was waiting for the right moment to explain her behaviour at the Observatory. Events had been a whirlwind since the capture of Eugene Fisher. Jack had not questioned her decision to fly her father back to England, or even asked her to delay; instead accepting it with a quiet resignation that made her heart pound with anxiety. Once they finished outlining her flight plan, perhaps she could speak to him about it.

“Jack, after the party—“

The telephone shrilled in the hallway. Mr. Butler answered, and then appeared in the doorway. “Group Captain Compton on the phone for you, Miss.”

Their conversation was brief, but satisfying. When she returned to the dining room, Jack was idly turning a globe, studying it as if it held the secret to the expanding universe. “Compton has arranged for RAF assistance through Ceylon and India,” said Phryne. Jack looked up at her, one eyebrow raised in a mixture of curiosity and surprise.

She shrugged, sitting across from him and reaching for a map. “He owes me.”

Jack narrowed his eyes; his jaw was tight. “Miss Fisher, I suspect you and I have very different ideas as to what constitutes a ‘low-key’ mission.”

“Well, nobody _died_ , Jack, if that’s what you’re wondering…” she replied, grinning at him wickedly.

He smiled at that. “Well, thank god for his assistance. I don’t know how you’d get across the subcontinent without it.”

Phryne blinked at him.

Jack raised his glass. “To old friends?”

Phryne clinked her glass against his, rendered temporarily speechless. They drank.

“Will you fly back to Australia?” said Jack.

“Perhaps. It would be simple to retrace my flight path, though it depends what state the Gypsy is in. And you know, I’ve always longed to try the Orient Express. A leisurely train journey might suit me better by then.”

He nodded, a sense of relief plain on his features. “And…how long will you be away?” His voice was quiet and he looked into her eyes with the same intensity he would examine a fingerprint, searching for hidden evidence.

“I can’t say, exactly. Perhaps a month, if things aren’t too bad in London. But I would like to visit Jane, in Geneva.”

“Of course. Give her my best regards, when you see her.”

Phryne smiled. “I will.”

They fell silent. Compton’s phone call had finalized Phryne’s itinerary, and there was little to do now except pack. And say goodbye. They sat, regarding each other across the table. Phryne had a sense of déjà vu, and thought of another bittersweet party, when they had found themselves with a table between them, and words unsaid. In the parlour, the sound of the party shifted; it grew quieter. Bert and Cec were singing. 

_A man may drink and not be drunk_

_A man may fight and not be slain_

_A man may court a pretty girl_

_And perhaps be welcomed back again_

Perhaps this was the moment to explain. Phryne was on the point of reaching for Jack’s hand, when she felt a sudden thump on the back.

“Phryne! How goes the planning?” Mac said loudly, her hand resting emphatically on Phryne’s shoulder.

“Enjoying yourself, Mac?” Phryne laughed, looking up at her. Mac was clearly rather worse for champagne.

“Phryne, darling, my pet, Mr. Butler requires your assiss--sistance in the kitchen.”

“Mr. Butler is in the parlour, Mac.”

“Well, then, _I_ require your assi-- assis-- your help in the kitchen.” She took Phryne’s arm and pulled her up from the chair. “ ‘Scuse us, Inspector. Women’s business, you know. I’ll return her to you relatively unharmed.”

“By all means, Doctor. I should rejoin the party at any rate.” Jack replied. Phryne could tell he was smothering a laugh. He hid his smile in a large gulp of champagne.

“More champagne for Jack, Mr. B!”  called Phryne, as Mac pushed her out of the room.


	2. Chapter 2

_Of all the comrades that e'er I had, they are sorry for my going away_

Mac shut the door of the kitchen firmly behind her. “Now,” she said slowly. “I have a bone to pick with you.”

She set her drink down carefully and fixed Phryne with a piercing glare.

Phryne crossed her arms, and raised her eyebrows, waiting. Mac was well lubricated, but not as drunk as Phryne had first supposed. A drunk Mac was sentimental and affectionate. A merely tipsy Mac could be disturbingly forthright.

“Why in the hell are you doing this?” Mac demanded. “Have you lost your bloody mind??”

Phryne sighed. “Don’t start, Mac. Not now. It’s a bit late for an interrogation.”

“Answer the bloody question.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Not drunk enough. And you’re too damned stubborn for your own damned good. You know damn well you don’t owe that bastard a damn thing!”

She didn’t sound angry; she sounded sad. Phryne saw Mac’s eyes were bright with tears.

“Mac,” she said softly. “Do you remember the first time I ran away from home?”

Mac huffed out a laugh. “I can still feel the birching I got for refusing to reveal your whereabouts. Though what the circus would have done with a 10 year old girl I’m sure I don’t know.”

Phryne nodded.

“Well, that’s all I’ve ever done, Mac. Run from him, from the both of them. To the circus, the train to Sydney, the Western Front, Paris – even here to Melbourne. I wasn’t coming home, Mac, and it wasn’t only about Janey. I was putting an entire planet between myself and my parents. And further I run the less I can escape. I’ve had enough. So I’m flying my father back to England to settle this once and for all. I’m not doing it for him, Mac. I’m doing it for me.”

Mac studied her for a moment, and then nodded. “Right, then. Just promise me you won’t try to set any flying records.”

Phryne wrinkled her nose at her. “Spoilsport.”

Mac picked up her drink and tossed the remains back.

“What about Jack?” she demanded.

Phryne turned away and became extremely interested in a dish cloth lying on the table.

“What _about_ Jack?” she replied, folding and refolding the cloth.

“Phryne Fisher, that man is in love with you.”

Phryne’s hands stilled, and she bit her lip. “I know.” She could feel her face burning as she looked down at the table.

Mac leaned over and turned Phryne’s face towards her. She looked at Phryne’s expression, and said, “Well, fuck me sideways!” She sat down in the kitchen chair with a thump. “ _You’re_ in love with _him!”_

Phryne gave Mac a small, quiet smile. “I know.”

Mac sat there and simply goggled at her. “Well...well...well, _shit!_ Does he know?”

Phryne groped for words. “Well, he must – obviously I – surely it’s apparent…”

“You mean to tell me you haven’t told him you love him.”

“Not in so many words…” Phryne said quietly.

Mac stood again and put her hands on Phryne’s shoulders. “You listen to me, the Honourable Miss Fisher. You damn well better live up to that title and tell him before you leave. Life’s too short, you hear me? It’s just too bloody goddamned short.”

“Oh Mac,” Phryne whispered. “I don’t know what to do. If I can just get my father back to England…he ruins everything he touches. I don’t want him to ruin this.” She laughed weakly. “I don’t know how to begin, or what to say.”

Mac grabbed her in a fierce hug. “Oh pet, it doesn’t matter how you say it. Just say _something_ to the poor bastard.”

“I will.”

“I’m going to miss you so damned much, you silly fool.”

“I miss you already, Mac.”

Phryne put her head on Mac’s shoulder, and they held each other tightly.


	3. Chapter 3

_And all the sweethearts that e'er I had, they would wish me one more day to stay_

It was nearing midnight and the guests were drifting home. Mac, having progressed beyond vulgar frankness into maudlin affection, had kissed everyone goodbye, including an appalled Aunt Prudence and a startled Jack. Prudence had taken her leave with only a slight quiver to betray the imperiousness in her voice. Alice and Cec each had hold of Bert, keeping him from swaying too dramatically.

“Now, Miss – _hic_ —“ Bert began. He waved a finger at her. “There’s something me Irish granny used ta – _hic_ – used ta say.” He drew a deep breath, and looked at her gravely. “May yer wind rise up – wait – may – _hic_ – may the road be at yer back – er – “

Phryne laughed and kissed him soundly on the cheek, leaving an imprint of her lips. “I’ll miss you too, Albert Johnson.”

Bert blinked at her and touched his face. “Yeah, well – just – don’t forget it. ‘S important.”

Cec grinned and said, “Don’t worry Miss, we’ll get him home safe.”

“Safe journey, Miss Phryne!” added Alice.

“Thank you, Alice, Cec.”

They guided Bert slowly down the front steps, as he sang softly to himself. “ _Goo—ood night aaan’ joy be—ee with you all!”_

Eventually Mr. Butler retired to the kitchen, the Baron was left in the parlour finishing off the drinks, and Phryne stood in the front hall, alone with Jack. He looked as serious as she had ever seen him.

She took a breath and reached for his hand. “Jack, I hope you know I –“

“Phryne, dear!” The Baron poked his head into the hallway. “Oh, hello, Inspector, you still here? Phryne, where could a man find some white vinegar? Only there seems to have been an incident with the port and your chaise lounge.”

“I’m sure Mr. Butler can assist you, Father,” said Phryne tightly, between gritted teeth.

“Oh! Quite right. Mr. Butler!” shouted the Baron, crossing the hall and wandering in the direction of the kitchen.

Phryne looked at Jack with a pained expression. “The sooner I get him out of Australia, the happier I’ll be.”

Jack took her hand in his. “Phryne. I…” he looked into her eyes and seemed unable to go on. Finally he glanced down at their hands. “I should leave. You have an early morning.”

“Wait. Before you go.” Phryne held his hand tightly. “I’m sorry about earlier…at the Observatory. I promise not to be so easily distracted…in future.”

He looked up at her then, and his expression had a wry humor in it. “Miss Fisher, I should know better by now than to come between you and an investigation.”

Phryne smiled and took a step closer to him. “Jack—“

“Found it!” announced her father, as he strode towards the parlour, brandishing the vinegar. “Never fear! Your Mr. Butler really is a wonder.”

Phryne glared daggers at the Baron as he passed. She had dropped Jack’s hand in her startled jump.

Jack cleared his throat and put his hat on. “Please be careful, Miss Fisher.”

“I will, Jack.” She looked at him sadly.

He flashed her a brief, somewhat pained smile. “Send me a postcard. I’ve always wanted to see Big Ben.”

“I promise,” she whispered.

He nodded once, then opened the door and quickly made his way into the night. Phryne watched him through the glass until he disappeared from her sight. He did not look back.

 


End file.
